Like Warm Sun on Nekkid Bottoms (47 page)

We walked for a minute or more in silence, and just listened to the singing of the sea. I’m sure a million things were going through her mind, but mostly I was thinking about her breasts; I am
terrifically
unevolved.

“Do you want to do this?” she asked hopefully.

“What?” I asked, nervous and a bit excited.

“See me,” she said, as if it should be obvious, and wondering where my mind was.

“Like…a relationship?”

“Yes.”

“More than anything.”

“So what are the rules, and what are the consequences?”

I chewed my own lip. Sucked my teeth. Hummed.

“Well,” I finally said. “The consequences are, our elders hating us, disowning us, and making us outcasts from both societies.”

“Pretty serious.”

“Frighteningly so.”

“What are the benefits?”

“Being together.”

She sighed, clearly moved by my words. “Good answer. Okay. Suppose this works out and the two of us fall deeply, profoundly, and passionately in love…” she paused and glanced at me meaningfully, as if waiting, and when I said nothing, “…or just…um…at least continue wanting to be together—but you get kicked out of Wopplesdown Struts, your home, your money, and have all your credit cards taken away.”

I shivered.

“Could you live
here
?” she asked.

“
Here?”
I looked around nervously. “I don’t know.”

“There’s one way to find out.”

“How?”

“Take off your pants.”

“What?”

“Take off your pants. If you can’t do that and be comfortable with no one else even around, then you could never
live
here.”

I hesitated, melted a bit under her electric gaze, then slowly reached for my snap and zipper. As I did, I glanced up, and down the beach again, even more nervously.

“Don’t look around. You have to not be worried about it or it will never work.”

I stared at her and hesitated. Her eyes showed concern, but also support and understanding. They were complex eyes.

“You were naked outside the restaurant.”

“Not by choice.”

“Is it really so different?”

I looked at my zipper.

“I was also—a bit more flaccid then.”

She laughed.

“It’s not really a
problem
here, Corky. Women’s nipples get hard…”

Gloop!

“…men’s penises get hard. It happens. It only becomes a problem when you do creepy things with it or it’s just chronic.”

I glanced at her, suddenly disturbed.

“It’s
chronic?”
she asked, surprised.

“Around
you!”

“Oh. Well. I assume that’ll pass eventually.”

“You assume a lot,” I said.

“All right,” she said, waving it off. “Well, for now, no one’s around. So it’s okay.”

I looked at her askance, not convinced, but still opened my fly slowly—uneasily—only to stop and involuntarily glanced around again.

She sighed heavily, then reached out and stopped me, looking into my eyes sadly.

“Okay. So you living here is not an option. I suppose I could live in your world and wear clothes.” She shuddered, violently. It was really sexy. “I was willing to do it before, I could do it again. What kind of work can you do?”

“I can look at semi-naked girls and not get sued.”

“Not a lot of demand for that kind of job skill.”

“I guess not. I might manage entry-level in a restaurant, or something like that.”

“You?”

I was offended.

“It’s
possible
. If I had a benevolent boss.”

“Benevolent? In the
city?”
She seemed to have her doubts. “I don’t know,” I said, tending to agree with her. “You think your family couldn’t accept me—even as a busboy—if I wore clothes?”

“Could your family accept me at parties, and gatherings, and social events if I
didn’t?
”

I said nothing. I didn’t need to. They already hadn’t.

We continued walking in silence, then arrived at a large rock where she sat quietly, looked out across the sea, and took her hand from mine. I missed its touch immediately. With growing despair, I turned and looked out over the ocean myself, putting my discarded fingers and their partners into their respective pockets. I liked pockets.

When she spoke again, after some long, deep thinking, her voice sounded distant, with none of its natural buoyancy.

“I might be able to find work with another modeling agency. So you might not need a job.”

“I don’t think I could be comfortable living off you.”

“There’s no shame in it.”

“It’s not the shame, it’s the burden. Life is expensive. I’d want to do my part, and modeling is a finicky business.”

“That’s true. I might only have a few years of earning potential, and then…”

“…there’s
two of us
with no job skills.”

“Well, I can run a restaurant. You’re more problematic. You’re used to having everything you want—up to and including a butler.”

“He’s not much of a butler.”

“He’s more than you’d have if you were disowned. And suppose we lost everything, on both sides, and then things didn’t work out between us. Where would we be then?”

Neither of us said anything as we stared off at the horizon a while longer. I turned and looked at her, and saw she was deeply miserable, her eyes wet and misted. Finally she spoke, her voice low—hollow, lost.

“This is supposed to be the most romantic part of the relationship. The beginning, when everything is magical and all problems can be overcome. But it feels more like the end.”

I kicked the sand absently.

“You’re such a sweet man, Corky,” she said, so sadly.

The words wounded me in some physical way. They sounded not so much like a compliment as a goodbye.

“Such a gentle soul,” she said. “I never thought I could meet anyone like you.”

“Wisper, there has to be some way…”

“Ssshhhhh,” she said, and studied me in silence for a moment, her expression one of profound loss.

“Take your pants off,” she said.

“What?”

“Take your pants off. Please?”

“I thought we had already established that I…”

“There’s no one around, and I’m not asking you to
live
this way. I just want to look at you.”

Her sadness-filled smile grew, and a tear formed in her eye.

“Take your pants off.”

Unbelievably, I still hesitated.

“Please?” she asked again.

With sudden, unexpected confidence, I opened the pants, and dropped them to the sand. She calmly sat there, pleased, as her eyes wandered up and down my body. She made me feel attractive, worthy, and proud, like maybe I actually looked good naked. I suppose anything was possible. The rules were
very
different here.

“Wow,” she said softly.

“Wow?”

“You’re so handsome.”

I looked down, surprised.

“Thank you.”

“I love your penis.”

“Um—thank you.”

“It has a really nice shape.”

“Glad you like it.”

“Good color, too.”

“You think so?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Thanks.”

“It bends a little to the left.”

“I know. Sorry.”

“No. It’s cute. Did you hurt it somehow?”

“No. It does that on its own.”

“Oh,” she said, studying it further. “It’s really very hard, isn’t it?”

“Pretty much since meeting you. Yeah.”

“Wow.”

“Like it was injected with concrete,” I said. “Men here don’t get like this?”

“Not like
that
.”

“Desensitization probably. Nudity overdose.”

“Maybe. I just love the way it gets so
big
around me, so
fast
. Like I really,
really
excite you.”

“As no one else possibly could.”

She looked up at my eyes, and there were more tears in hers.

“You are the sweetest man.”

She held out her hands and beckoned me.

“Make love with me.”

“What? Wisper, I…”

“Make love with me. Stand between my legs, push yourself inside me, and hold me like you’ll never let me go.”

I stood for a minute longer than I should have—because it was a minute I could have spent touching her. Finally, I stepped out of my pants and over to her, taking her shoulders, pulling her against me— —and, finally, we kissed.

It was as though she were making love to my lips. My brain began to melt, as our skin, and hands, and bodies exploded into one another. The contact was dazzling. My teeth, tongue, and mouth felt as if they were being cattle-prodded with unconditional love, and the energy spread out from there to every other part of me, hot, tingly, and intense. She took my penis in her hands and began to move it between her spreading legs. I could feel the heat of her on its tip as she began to guide it in, when out of nowhere a voice ripped my skull open and pissed on my brains.

“CORKY!”

I looked up, and Morgan was running my way, chased across the sand by an angry mob of naked teenagers with sticks.

“YOU SON OF A BITCH! YOU LEFT ME BACK THERE!”

“NO
, YOU IDIOT!” I screamed! “MORGAN,
GO AWAY!”

He was still about fifty yards from us now, but I could see he had taken some severe punishment. Body bruised, hair wild, clothes hanging off in rags, no longer concealing much. His pants were gone entirely, and I could see why Ms. Waboombas didn’t think much of him.

“WHAT?” he shrieked. “
I’M
THE ONE WHO SHOULD BE MAD AT
YOU
!”

He got closer and scowled, slowly taking things in.

“HEY!” he snapped. “WHAT ARE YOU TWO
DOING
?”

He got right up beside me, stopped, and fidgeted nervously while staring at us with confusion. Feeling violated, I stood back from Wisper. The mood, as you can imagine, was somewhat dimmed. Morgan stared down in disgust at my erection.

“Dude! Put that thing away! What is
wrong
with you?” Embarrassed, I reached down, and began pulling my slacks back on.

“What are you doing?” Wisper asked.

“I’m…” I said, confused by the question. “…getting dressed. People are coming.”

She stared at me blankly as I yanked my pants up over my angry penis. It was so focused on the idea that it might actually, finally, experience its intended purpose in life, that it fought like a special forces soldier to be free so it could complete its mission properly.

Wisper looked at it, tearfully, then back up at me.

“What?” I asked, dumbly.

She said nothing. Just stared.

“Whoa,” Morgan cut in. “You’re the babe from the restaurant. Anyone ever tell you, you’ve got an amazing ass?”

“Yes. Why are those people chasing you?”

He turned and looked back at the onrushing crowd. One of his attackers pointed right at me. It was River, Wisper’s brother.

“YOU!”

“IT’S THE OTHER ONE!” another angry nudist yelled.

And suddenly everyone’s speed through the sand increased. Testicles, penals, and breastals flapped, slapped, and clapped their way towards us at a horrifyingly rapid clip. I gasped and coupled my pants together over my struggling member.

“THE LITTLE ONE GROPED TAMMY,” someone yelled to Wisper.

“What?” Wisper turned on Morgan. “You did
what
?” The sensual mood was now completely eradicated from all parts of her body, especially the important ones. “What is
wrong
with you?”

“She was
naked! I couldn’t help myself!”
Morgan said, squealing, and began running away again, past us, around the rocks, and down the beach.

“This is why we hate it when your kind comes here,”
Wisper yelled after him.

It deeply disturbed me the way she said ‘your kind’. Like a Southern Baptist saying ‘homosexual’, or a Palestinian saying ‘Jew’.

“
My
kind?” I said.

“Clothists,” she said, directing her anger toward me. “Textiles.”

“You mean,
normal
people,”
Morgan yelled from fifty yards off.

Wisper scowled at him, then back at me.

“Wisper. What’s going on? A minute ago…”

“A minute ago, you were ready to walk out on any chance we might have to be together because you couldn’t take your pants off in public. But the minute I offered
sex
…”

It was a test!

It was a
test?

“You said you could be happy with me wearing nothing,” she said, tears, again, filling her eyes. “Was that I lie?”

Had I said that? I frantically rushed through my memories of our brief time together. Everything had seemed so etched in my brain, but had I said that?

“I suppose you just meant when we were in
bed
together. Or heading there,” she said angrily.
“
Why are you here, Mister Wopplesdown?
Really
?”

I looked at the fiercely approaching crowd, with River pacing the pack. It was clear I needed the right answer, fast, and I was too confused to think linearly.